


Born to Lose

by 221brothermine



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Because Azula is Azula, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Animal Abuse, Minor Mai/Zuko, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brothermine/pseuds/221brothermine
Summary: Zuko likes to keep to himself, but no matter which way he turns his head, the bubbly cheerleader, Katara, keeps popping up.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Zuko isn't so rich and privileged in this one. This gives a whole new meaning to "Zuko alone," lol.

For Zuko, love looks like a fist coming fast.

His parents argue in the kitchen while he sits on the living room couch, watching _Rugrats_. His sister is somewhere outside, screaming at a rabbit she can’t catch.

A plate breaks and Zuko winces, his heart hammering in his chest. He lowers the volume, trying to make out what they’re saying. 

“You disgust me,” his mother says. Her voice is hoarse from yelling and crying. “You think I like living with you?” 

Ozai isn’t yelling anymore. He’s growling something low, and Zuko knows his father is awful close to Mom. He gets up, hands shaking, and approaches the hall leading to the kitchen. He peaks around the corner and sees Ozai has his mom’s work blouse bunched up in his fist. She’s only got two blouses for the diner. She asks Zuko to do the laundry every few days because they smell like kitchen grease and have coffee stains.

Zuko steps into the kitchen and mutters, “Stop that.” His father turns to look at him. He’s wearing a wifebeater and his arm muscles are bugling. He growls.

For Zuko, love looks like a fist coming fast. 

* * *

Zuko doesn’t say a single word throughout his homeroom and first period class. He stares at his sneakers and nothing the teachers are saying registers. He thinks about how he found the rabbit dead outside that morning, cut open with organs hanging out. 

“Azula, what did you do?” he yelled as his sister out in the front yard. She adjusted the straps of her backpack right before stepping onto her bus. She turned her head and smirked at him. “Just a little experiment.” 

* * *

Zuko sits alone at lunch. He pushes his rice and beans around but doesn’t eat much. He drinks juice from the juice box because that’s all he can stomach, the image of the dead rabbit flashing through his mind. 

“Hey, man, want my oatmeal cookie?” 

When Zuko looks up, a guy with a mostly-shaved head and a ponytail is standing behind him, offering him a misshapen cookie in a plastic bag. Zuko thinks he recognizes him from somewhere. He hangs out with a girl that looks a lot like him – the same tan skin and dark hair. 

Zuko takes the cookie. “Thanks.”

“Phew, finally. I’m glad someone likes those nasty things. See, Katara?” The boy is yelling at someone at a lunch table at the far end of the cafeteria. “I’m not wasting food!” 

Zuko turns his head. He spots her: a girl sitting at the end of a long table with a group. Her friends are laughing, but she’s scowling at the cookie boy – her brother, Zuko realizes. She’s wearing a cheerleader’s uniform. That’s how Zuko knows her. He's seen her walking around in the pack they usually travel in around school. Usually her hair is up in a high ponytail, but it’s down today, long and wavy.

The boy nods at Zuko. “Later, man.” 

Later, at the end of the day, when he gets his appetite back, Zuko retrieves the cookie from his backpack and munches on it while sitting in the back of Mr. Bumi’s chemistry class. It’s not bad. A little too sweet for his taste, but it’s something to hold him over. He watches Mr. Bumi flailing his arms and arching his eyebrow at the students, as if trying to intimidate them into understanding the periodic table. He leaves Zuko alone, though. Everyone does. 

* * *

He’s pulling textbooks out of his backpack to put in his locker when he senses someone beside him. When he closes it shut, a girl is smiling at him.

The smile instantly falters. Zuko is wearing a hoodie, but the purple bruise blooming on his left eye is hard to miss when someone is looking at him directly. She is. _Katara._

She clears her throat and attempts a smile again. “Come support the homecoming game?” She offers him a neon green flyer with black letters and a WordArt cartoon of a football player throwing a football. Zuko doesn’t move to take it.

“No thanks,” he says, shutting his locker closed and pulling his backpack over his shoulders. Katara’s eyes are big and blue, and a frown forms in between them. He wonders if she’s wearing contacts. The way they contrast with her skin, they don’t seem real. 

“Why not?” she asks. 

He wishes she would move on to soliciting someone else. “Because,” he grates. “I don’t like games.” 

“Don’t you want to support your classmates? The bigger the crowd, the more chance of us winning.” 

Support his classmates? Zuko scoffs. What have they ever done to deserve that? They don’t cheer him on when he’s trying not fail his geometry test. “I don’t care if we win.” She opens her mouth, like she’s about to protest again, but he cuts her off. “And I don’t like cheerleaders.” 

He walks away before she could try and convince him again, but he caught sight of the way her shoulders tensed and her hands balled into fists, crumpling the remaining papers in her hands. She was angry. Good. Cheerleaders were too preppy for their own good, anyway.

* * *

“I can’t believe it!” Katara exclaims. She’s pushing down the skin under her eye so she has a smoother surface on which to paint her eyeliner. “I’ve never met anyone so rude. That boy has _no_ school spirit.” 

“What did you say his name was again?” Toph’s voice echoes against the linoleum bathroom walls. She’s sitting on the sink counter, back against the wall, feet kicked up. 

“I don’t know his name,” Katara says. “But if I did, I would add an expletive in front of it.”

Toph laughs. “You wouldn’t swear if your life depended on it.”

Katara sighs and studies her reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, well, I’d make an exception for him.”

“If you say he had a bruise over his eye, that might be Zuko. He’s in my chemistry class,” Toph says. She pulls up her knees and picks at the hole that is ripped in her jeans above one knee, making it bigger. “I’m surprised he talked to you. That kid _never_ talks. I don’t think I know what his voice sounds like.”

“It sounds annoying,” Katara says, her anger refusing to wane. The Kyoshi High cheerleaders had been practicing for this game for _weeks._ How dare this Zuko kid act like he was so above them? Though musing about Toph’s comment, Katara is remembering how unusual the sound of his voice was. Kind of grating and low, but not entirely unpleasant. It was his _words_ that were unpleasant. 

“I think he has some trouble at home,” Toph says. 

Katara shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t excuse being a jerk.” But she remembers the bruise again. How huge it was, covering his whole eye. One big purple blotch. Whatever. It wasn’t really her business. 

* * *

Zuko doesn’t mean to end up at the homecoming game. 

He snuck under the bleachers after school just to have a smoke. He didn’t want to take the bus, and his house was close enough to walk to. He didn’t want to go home straight away so the smell didn’t cling to his clothes as much. His mom would get sad if she found out he picked up his father’s habit. 

That and it’s Friday, which means his dad would be home all weekend. Ozai goes heavier on the beer cans on Friday, sitting motionless in front of the TV. Zuko used to worry about leaving Azula alone. But she sheds no tears whether he’s there or not, and Ozai never touches her. He just chuckles when she shows him a Barbie doll she had ‘choked’ with a metal tie she got from a bag of Wonder Bread. “That’s my girl,” he would gruff. “You’ve got more balls than your brother.” 

Zuko is just finishing one cigarette and pulling out another when he hears voices approaching the bleachers. 

“What do you mean it’s too short? All the girls are wearing these skirts! They have spankies underneath.”

The voice is familiar. Zuko is well-hidden, but it makes him tense up. He stands, putting his hand against the metallic bottom of the seats so he doesn’t bump his head. Through the slats between rows, he sees two pairs of feet stomping across an aisle. One pair is wearing dark skinny jeans. The other is a pair of tan legs with high socks. 

“I don’t _like_ it, Katara. Think the other boys won’t be ogling at you? Are you _trying_ to tempt them to do something to you?” 

“ _Do_ something to me?” Katara sounds incredulous. Zuko can picture her balling her fists again. “What is that supposed to mean? Is that what you really think of your buddies? Would you _let_ something happen?” 

“I wouldn’t. You know that. I’m just saying, with you looking like that, it’s a possibility.” 

It takes Zuko a moment, but he realizes he knows the boy’s voice. It’s Jet. Him and Zuko went to the same middle school. They used to be friends, but that was before Jet got in with the football team. He only ever acknowledged Zuko with a terse nod in the hallways. He was always picking his teeth with a toothpick in class. Zuko didn’t feel like he was missing out, especially not now. 

“I can’t believe you’re even entertaining that possibility.” Katara’s voice is shaking in that way Mom’s sometimes shakes when she’s crying, Zuko thinks. 

“I’m only trying to protect you.” 

“Whatever. I’ll see you after the game.” Zuko watches Katara’s feet swivel and begin to walk away, but she abruptly stops, one of her legs hovering in the air. 

“Let _go_ of me!” 

“Don’t be upset. I don’t want you upset.” 

Zuko hears Katara grunt, trying to pull away her arm from Jet’s grip. Zuko’s heart begins to race. He hates that he’s there, listening to this. He’s worried they’ll smell the cigarette smoke. 

“It’s too late for that!” 

“Come and kiss me, at least. A good luck kiss before the game.” 

There’s a pause in the struggle. No words pass between them, but Jet and Katara’s knees come close and face each other. Katara stands up on her tiptoes, then leaves without another word. 

* * *

Zuko waits another hour before he gets up to go. Students start climbing up on the bleachers. At first he is annoyed, wondering why everyone else decided this was a good hangout spot all of a sudden. That’s when he remembers about the game and decides to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“I thought you said you didn’t like games.” 

He knows the voice before he sees her. When he turns his head, sure enough, Katara and a few other cheerleaders are standing by the gate to the football field, preparing to run out and hype up the crowd. A few of them are leaning on the fence, others are stretching. Katara is the only one facing him, arms folded. Her eyes are bloodshot. 

He looks down at the dirt. “I don’t.”

“And yet you’re here. Did you come here to boo your team?”

“I was just leaving.”

“Great!” 

He can’t quite meet her eyes, but he looks at her feet, clad in white shoes. He can’t stop the words before they leave his mouth. “You should break up with him.” 

Katara blinks at him. He can see some of the other cheerleaders craning their heads. One of them, a girl with a brown bob and winged eyeliner, quirks up an eyebrow, looking between him and Katara. She blows her gum and it pops. 

“What?” Katara says. She’s still angry, not processing what he had just said.

“Your boyfriend, Jet. He’s not a good guy. You should break up with him.” 

Katara’s arms drop to her sides. “How did you – How is that any of your business? Are you following me?” 

Zuko lets out a dry laugh. “Trust me, I’m not running into you by choice. You should be more careful about where you have your lovers’ quarrels.” 

He walks away again, but this time she shouts after him. She says his name at some point, and he’s surprised she even knows it. 

* * *

When Zuko gets back home, there are two cop cars on the front lawn. One of them had knocked down a birdfeeder, one of the only nice aspects of their house.

His mother spills out onto the porch, long black hair disheveled and tear tracks on her face. She’s still beautiful, even with the hint of laugh lines forming and her mascara clumping. 

“Zuko, where the hell have you been?”

“I was at school. What’s going on, Mom?” 

Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. 

She pulls him into a hug and lets out a strangled sob. “We’re leaving, baby. You and Azula have to pack your bags. We’re leaving.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! First of all, I am so flattered by all your kudos and positive reviews. I assumed the reception would be small since this is a slightly smaller AO3 fandom than what I'm used to. Thank you all for reading! I've expanded it to three chapters because I've had a few more ideas. Hope you enjoy. :)

Zuko didn’t see it at first, the funny way Ursa was holding up her right hand. Dad had broken two of her fingers and Ursa had called the cops. Now they were moving.

Azula was furious. She didn’t want to go at first, demanding to see Dad. Mom eventually lost her patience and raised her voice, making Azula go to her room. Azula packed with pouted lips.

There wasn’t much to pack. Both his and Azula’s clothes went into a single luggage. The other one was Mom’s.

“It’s going to be all right, Azula,” Zuko says. They’re in the room they share, and Zuko passes Azula a stuffed rabbit with missing eyes off a shelf.

She snatches it from him. “No it’s not. _You’re_ going to be the favorite now.” 

Sometimes Zuko thinks ten is too young to be so hateful. “No one is the favorite. Mom loves us both.” 

But tears stream down Azula’s face. She cradles a pack of cigarettes Dad left behind, then puts them on the bed before she leaves to the kitchen to eat dinner. Zuko picks them up and discards them in a plastic trash bag. He drags it to the living room to pick the empty beer bottles off the glass coffee table.

Over unseasoned pasta their mother sighs and tells them they’re moving to a woman’s shelter for a couple of weeks. Zuko doesn’t know what that means, but he asks the other question pressing on his mind as he twists the pasta into the Ragu sauce. “Where’s Dad?”

Azula looks up at Mom to hear the answer. She stopped crying but her face is still wet. 

“I don’t know. But we’ve got time to leave the house before he comes back.”

Zuko has a million more questions, but he’s too stunned to say anything. Sometimes he would hear Ursa talking on the phone as she paced the living room. “I know. I know,” she would sigh to a friend on the other line. She’d put a hand over her face, the one with the small silver band over her ring finger. 

“You and Azula will still go to the same schools. But you’ll have to take the bus, Zuko.” 

Zuko shrugs. That’s fine by him. Is he never going to see his Dad again? That’s a strange thought. He bet Dad was angry. He would say Zuko had no balls, leaving the house like that. 

At least he would still go to the same school.

* * *

He sees Katara glaring at him from the other side of the cafeteria as he stands in line to get his food. He goes to his usual table where no one joins him, just the way he likes. It was nice being a sophomore who looked like a senior. 

Jet is sitting by Katara’s side, and he throws an arm around her. Jet follows where Katara’s looking and meets Zuko’s gaze. He gives a terse nod. Zuko doesn’t return it, just takes another spoonful of his Fruit Loops. 

* * *

The women’s shelter is a large, circular one-story building. Every room Zuko peaks in, there’s a woman with kids. 

They share a room with a woman and her baby. Azula and Zuko sleep on twin-over-twin bunk beds. Mom sleeps on a separate one. Azula makes a fuss over claiming the bottom one, but Zuko doesn’t really mind.

It’s harder to hide his smoking here. Bigger chance Mom would see. He decides he’ll just stick to school, sneaking one during lunch or between classes, since he has to catch the bus now. 

There’s a bald kid on the bus who Zuko definitely doesn’t think belongs in high school. He’s jittery and always laughing. Zuko realizes he’s seen him sitting at Katara’s lunch table.

One day they sit together on the bus. The boy is bouncing his leg up and down, hands between his knees. “You know, I don’t have to take the bus. But I told my dad I wanted to. It’s so much fun.” 

“That’s great,” Zuko mutters. 

“I’m Aang.” 

Zuko eyes the hand that Aang sticks out for him to take. He has a small arrow tattoo inked along the back that disappears somewhere inside his sleeve.

“Pleasure,” Zuko says, looking back out the window at the blurring trees. It’s daybreak, so the sky is still blue-grey. He’s hugging the backpack sitting on his knees.

The kid drops his hand, but he’s relentless. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Zuko.”

“Cool!"

Aang begins chattering away about how he’s never met a Zuko, but he’s met another Aang. Then he goes through the names of his friends. Jet, Sokka, Toph, Suki. 

“Katara’s also the only Katara I know, but she says she’s met another one.” 

Zuko listens, even though he doesn’t say anything. 

* * *

They left Dad’s stuff alone, since he’d still have the house, but Zuko nicked his Swiss army knife.

He always saw Dad flicking it open and closed, sometimes using it for wine bottles. One time, he pretended to threaten Ursa with it while she was cooking in the kitchen. He snuck up behind her and placed it under her neck, then whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. She threw her head back when she laughed. Zuko absorbed the sound. He couldn’t recall it from memory, so he savored it when he could. 

He plays around with the knife, tries to throw it at the outside wall of the shelter to see if it sticks, but that fails. 

Later, when he’s lying in bed playing with a rubber ball, Azula asks him to use it. “My Barbies need surgery, stat.” 

“No,” Zuko says. “It’s too dangerous. You could hurt yourself.”

That’s not what he really means. She folds her hands over her chest and glares.

“I’ll tell Mom about the cigarettes.” He hears the smirk in her voice before he even looks at her. “You should keep a lock on your sock drawer, brother.” 

Zuko curses under his breath, not believing she found where he kept his stash. 

“Fine,” Zuko grumbles. He digs it out of his pocket and throws it down to her. “But I need it back in an hour.” 

She runs off to the playground just outside the shelter. Zuko runs a hand over his face, hopping off the bed. He’ll watch her in the sandbox. Just in case.

* * *

The side of the school by the track field is the best place to smoke during lunch. They call it the Wall. Either no one is there, or another smoker is. It stinks of weed.

Zuko feels on edge that day. He gets a C on a geometry test that he thought he did good on. Mr. Gyatso shakes his head a little when he hands Zuko back his test, turned over.

Zuko knows it’s really not his lucky day when he’s got company at the Wall. He hears the commotion before he turns around the corner. 

“Stop it, Jet. Stop it!” 

Surveying the scene behind the edge of the wall, Zuko first spots a kid on his knees on the floor, crying. His nose is stained red. Then he sees Katara. She had been the one screaming. Then he sees Jet with a curled fist.

“This freshman needs to learn his lesson.”

“He’s just a kid, Jet. I think he’s learned enough.” Katara steps in front of Jet. He crowds into her space, standing tall above her. 

“He _stole_ from you. He needs to learn his place at this school and know things like that won’t fly.”

Katara bares her teeth, which surprises Zuko. Not so preppy after all.

“He didn't have enough lunch money for school. It wasn't right, but you already got my wallet back. He should be reported to the principal’s office. Now _you’re_ going to get in trouble, too.”

“You mean _we_ are.” 

“’We’? I didn’t punch him!”

“So what, you’ll rat me out?” 

Katara’s confidence wavers. Her eyes fall to the floor. “Well, no,” she mumbles. “But—”  
  
“But what?” Jet’s other unfisted hand grips Katara’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “But what, Katara?”

Zuko steps out from behind the wall. “Get back.” 

Jet cranes his head. He’s got a toothpick wedged between his teeth again. When he recognizes Zuko, he grins.

“Zuko! What a pleasant surprise, old friend. How long has it been?” 

“I said get back,” Zuko repeats. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and unfurls the sharp blade on the Swiss army knife in one swift motion. He’s been practicing. 

Katara’s eyes go wide. Jet turns around and stalks up to Zuko. He’s no longer smiling but breathing hard through his nostrils. He’s taller than Zuko, staring down at him. “Your father toughened you up after all, didn’t he.” 

Zuko sneers and presses the tip of the blade against Jet’s chest. For a moment he thinks Jet is going to fight him, with the way his eyes narrow. But maybe he remembers the way Zuko always beat him at arm wrestling. Maybe he sees he’s not so gangly anymore, hard, lean muscle built in his frame. Whatever it is, he only says, “Let’s go, Katara.” 

From the periphery of his vision, Zuko sees Katara huddled on the floor next to the boy, who is sobbing quietly. She keeps her gaze lowered.

“Don’t think your girlfriend likes you very much, Jet,” Zuko says. 

“Katara!” Jet growls. 

There’s an annoyed edge to Katara’s voice when she speaks. “I have to take him to the nurse, Jet. Go to fourth period without me.” 

Jet puffs up his chest, nostrils flaring. “Fine.” Without another word, he shoves past Zuko and walks away. 

The boy swings both arms around Zuko and Katara’s shoulders before they carry him to the nurse. Jet had busted his knee, too. Katara’s eyes are filled with tears, but she doesn’t cry. 

* * *

They’re asked to sit in the waiting room while the boy, Jin, is examined. Katara takes a seat, but Zuko zips up his jacket and goes for the door.

“Hey!” Katara calls. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t need to get involved in this. You can tell them whatever you want.” He begins opening the door, but Katara stands abruptly and says, “Wait!”

She says it so loudly he’s startled and lets the door shut closed. Katara’s cheeks turn red as she looks around the reception room, hoping no one heard.

“I—I just wanted to say thank you. For stopping Jet. He has a temper and—” Katara shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure whether he would stop.”

Zuko studies her face for a moment. She looks sad. Didn’t she see how messed up Jet was before?

He clears his throat. “Yeah. No problem.”

When she opens her eyes again, she smiles at him. “Do you want to hang out? My brother and my friend Aang were going to shoot some hoops at the basketball court after school. We could use another player.”

Zuko turns to the door again, remembering his intent to leave. “No thanks. It’s like I said before. I don’t like playing games.”

Her shoulders droop a little. Like she’s actually disappointed. Wasn’t she mad at him a couple of days ago?

He feels bad leaving without another word. So he asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you going to tell on your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what Jin decides to tell them. But I won’t mention you. I’ll just say Jet cooled off. You’ll probably get expelled for that knife.”

It wasn’t really a knife, but Zuko wasn’t about to correct her. He would probably get expelled either way. Wouldn’t that be great news to bring home—wherever that was.

* * *

Katara wrings her hands. She’s never been in the principal’s office before except for when the whole cheerleading squad was rushed in there to receive a congratulations for making it to the national championships.

It turns out, Jet still has a lot of fight left in him.

When Katara asks Jin if he’s okay with a version of the story that leaves out Zuko, he agrees. But of course once Jet gets pulled into the principal’s office, Zuko is pulled in shortly after. They believe Zuko helped, but they also believe Jet when he mentions Zuko pulling a knife. Or really, they don’t know who to believe – so they suspend Jet and Zuko both.

She hates the coldness of Jet’s face after – the way he won’t talk to her or look at her.

She thinks about Zuko when she’s allowed to go back to class. Wonders why he wanted nothing to do with her. Had she really been that mean? He didn’t seem to have many friends, either.

And what he really said was he didn’t like _watching_ games. But how could anyone not enjoy playing them?

* * *

“What am I going to do with you kids?” Ursa slouches over in the kitchen chair. They share the space with the other families, but there’s no one there now.

“Mom, it’ll be fine. The suspension is only for week. Plus,” Zuko says, grinning, “You should see the other guy.”

Ursa glares daggers. Zuko chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. No-jokes kind of conversation. “I just mean he got suspended for two weeks. I didn’t hurt him.”

Ursa sighs and covers her face with one hand. “You kids. All in the same week, I can’t believe it.”

Zuko’s heart sinks. “What do you mean?”

“Azula got suspended too. For cutting off a girl’s pigtail in recess.”

The snipped-off ponytail of a blonde Barbie flashes through Zuko’s mind. “I’m sorry, Mom.” He hates how tired Ursa looks. He isn’t helping.

“That’s not all of it. She also pinned the girl to the ground and punched her in the face. They say her nose was like a water spout of red.”

“Where’s Azula now?”

“She’s in the room,” Ursa sighs. “She’s not being very talkative.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“No, there’s no need.”

Zuko folds his hands over his chest. “Are you going to ground us?”

“No. But I can’t do nothing. I think you’ll both do better if you had a home.”

Zuko perks up. “Did you find a house?”

“No, I don’t have the money right now.”

The gears in Zuko’s head begin to turn. “I could get a job. I have a whole week to search. If we save enough money—”

“ _No,_ Zuko.” Ursa’s irritation wanes into a defeated tone. “I’m sending you away.”

“What?”

“You and Azula both. To New York City, to live with your uncle. Just for a little while until I can set finances straight.”

“What uncle?”

“Uncle Iroh. He's your father's brother. You met him when you were a baby."

Uncle Iroh. Zuko only remembers stumbling into two sturdy legs and being lifted up.

There are probably a hundred Irohs in the phonebook, and Zuko doesn't know a single one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Don't worry, this isn't the last that we'll see of Katara.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Iroh is a Cool Uncle and Zuko becomes a groupie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katara _will_ come back (this is a Zutara fic, after all). I just need Zuko to have a little more development first. Adding an 'Underage' tag because there are depictions of sexual activity in this chapter (and further chapters) with characters under eighteen. Other added tags are self-explanatory. And expanding chapter count once again. Enjoy. :)

Uncle Iroh’s apartment is three floors above a restaurant in the middle of Chinatown.

Zuko cranes his neck trying to figure out the right window as they wait to cross the street. Mom bought Azula a small suitcase for the trip. Azula tramples across the street with it before the light turns green and Zuko runs after her yelling.

Zuko knocks on the door of 32 three times. From inside he hears a hoarse voice call out, “Come in.”

When he tries the door handle, it opens.

They go through bead curtains. The apartment is dim and smells like incense. The kitchen is the first thing to the left. A whole assortment of teapots sits on the shelves of the kitchen wall.

Azula and Zuko move past another set of bead curtains and find themselves in the living room. Sheer curtains are draped over the windows, and potted plants sit underneath them. On the floor, sitting crossed-legged on a carpet, eyes closed, is Uncle Iroh. He has a stout, round belly.

Azula clears her throat.

Uncle Iroh’s eyes open, and he smiles. “What took you so long?”

* * *

Zuko wants to sleep. He’s hungry and tired from the flight but Uncle Iroh insists on making them both tea. It burns the tip of Zuko’s tongue. 

He asks Azula a bunch of questions. She seems to like the attention. Zuko keeps answers to a minimal. _Sixteen. Tenth. She’s fine, still working at the diner._

Azula yawns. Iroh tells her she has her own room now where she can get some rest. She perks up, standing from her seat and rushing out of the kitchen.

There’s a silence now. Zuko takes sip of his tea while Uncle Iroh washes out the teapot in the sink.

“Tell me, Zuko. How did you come to get that scar?”

Zuko clenches the teacup a little harder. He wasn’t prepared to say anything. Zuko knows what Iroh sees — the remaining healing cuts around his eye. His father wore a ring that scraped the skin. 

“I—” A lump forms in Zuko’s throat. “I fell.”

Uncle Iroh turns off the tap and begins to dry off the teapot. He raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. You’re telling me you got that scar from falling? You can be honest with me, Zuko. I will not think of you as less of a man.”

Zuko shakes his head. _Have some balls, kid,_ his father would say.

“Your mother was scarce on the details, but I know my brother is not a gentle man. It would not offend me to hear you say so.” 

“I got into a fight at school,” Zuko says. It wasn’t entirely untrue. “That’s it.”

Uncle Iroh sighs. “Right.” But he leaves it alone after that.

* * *

Zuko has his own room here. Azula does too. They only have to share a bathroom.

He never had his own room. With this independence, he does the first thing that comes to mind, and it requires a box of tissues.

He’s done it before in the shower but this was easier. More comfortable and easier to clean. 

He sets a pace with his hand. His breathing becomes shallow. Long, brown hair flashes through his mind. The swish of a short skirt and tan legs underneath. He’s spent instantly, gasping as he tries to control the stream with a handful of tissues.

He gasps out her name just as he climaxes, the first time it’s left his mouth. 

* * *

Zuko gets a job as a bag boy at the supermarket across the street and works there nights and weekends.

It’s a thankless job and pays minimum wage, but Zuko’s never had his own job before. Sometimes girls smile at him. Sometimes a girl comes in and sneers when he offers to help with heavy bags. One time a girl writes a phone number on her receipt and stuffs it in the front pocket of his shirt after he carries her groceries to her car. 

He stares at it for a long time in his room then throws it away.

* * *

Iroh knows the owner of the restaurant below, so he brings them takeout when he doesn’t cook himself.

It’s more flavor than Zuko is used to having. He finishes every last grain of rice. After two months, he gains some weight. His arms fill out his sleeves and the pants he got from Dad are no longer lose around his waist. 

* * *

He and Azula are enrolled in the same school, a K-12. 

Zuko keeps to the back and only raises his hand for attendance. It’s not so different from Kyoshi High. No one touches him except the teachers to give an awkward introduction of the new transfer. Heads turn to look at him but soon look back at the front. He’s not impressive to look at. The only thing interesting about his face is his scar, but no one can see it with his hair falling over his eye. 

One girl in English class keeps staring at him, though. She’s got sharp bangs and two buns on opposite corners of her sleek black hair.

Zuko’s cheeks burn. 

As the teacher calls the roster, he learns her name is Mai. She sits next to Ty Lee, a bubbly girl with a long braid who always wears crop-tops.

One day, Ty Lee throws a paper at him folded into the shape of a flower. When he opens it, it says:

_The Craphole_

_8PM, Saturday_

_Meet us there._

When he looks up, Mai is staring at him again. Or glaring. He can’t tell which. But he likes her hair. The sharp angles of her face. He swallows and nods in spite of himself. 

* * *

When Zuko googles the Craphole, he discovers that it’s a nightclub in Brooklyn Heights. It’ll take him about thirty minutes to get there.

Iroh doesn’t ask too many questions when Zuko says he’s going out. He only says, “Be careful. Don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t want you to do.”

Azula folds her hands and pouts. “I want to go too.” 

Zuko glares. Mom always made Zuko take Azula everywhere, but he wasn’t about to take her to a nightclub. But Iroh only laughs. “Your time will come too, Azula. Now come help me make these dumplings.” 

Zuko sighs in relief, snatching his house keys and metro pass before he goes.

* * *

He keeps his hands in the pockets of his black zip-up hoodie. The metro is only half-full this time of night.

When he arrives, Mai is leaning against the wall. She’s a smoker too. She’s wearing fishnet stockings and shorts, and her eye makeup is heavy. 

Zuko clears his throat. “Uh. Hi.” 

She taps the cigarette with her finger so the ash falls off. “So you do speak.” 

He smiles sheepishly, and she smiles back.

* * *

Mai is in a band. 

She is the lead singer of the Chi Blockers. Ty Lee plays drums. They are one of the three performances of the night. 

Zuko keeps to the back, but he watches with rapt attention. Mai wears fingerless gloves and sings with her eyes closed. Somehow she sounds different from the girl he knows in class. In class she sounds bored with the romantic interpretations of _Romeo and Juliet_. Here she's lost in her element.

After the show, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and approaches her. His heart beat fast. “That was cool. Really cool.”

She smirks. “You want to smoke weed?"

* * *

They sit in a circle in the back alley of the Craphole _._

Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, and the two Chi Blockers guitarists. 

Zuko at first insists he’ll stick to the cigarettes. But then Ty Lee passes a pink bong and blinks at him expectantly.

“So where are you from?” Ty Lee’s voice is high-pitched and sweet. 

Zuko says Kyoshi, illinois. The all seem fascinated by that.

He takes a hit and has a coughing fit. He gets it after a couple of more tries. His gaze lingers a little too long on things. He feels like talking even less. But when they make jokes, he laughs, even if he doesn’t always understand them.

* * *

Back in school, Mai calls over to him to sit with her at the lunch table with the rest of the Chi Blockers. He is making his way over to his usual corner, so he stands frozen for a moment, debating. Zuko hopes they don’t want him to play an instrument. He doesn’t know any. 

“Where do you buy your clothes? That jacket is neat,” Ty Lee asks. Zuko’s faded denim jacket, like everything else, is from his dad. It isn’t so oversized anymore. He shrugs. “Thrift store.”

They chat amongst themselves about what venues they’ll play at next. Mai kicks him lightly under the table. Her friends are still talking, but she’s looking at Zuko. 

* * *

After English, in the hallway, Mai calls out, “Hey.” 

Zuko stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t know how to talk to her so he’s glad she talks to him. 

“You want to come to my house later?” She sticks out a piece of paper where she’d written an address in slanted writing. 

“What for?” Zuko says. He feels like an idiot saying it. But he really doesn’t know. He only knew she didn’t need help in English. She was miles ahead of him.

“To hang out. Is that cool?”

Zuko thinks he might be breaking out in cold sweat. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

Mai winks. “Later.”

* * *

He hops on the train back home so Azula has company. Uncle Iroh asks him to take out the trash and help dust the place. Zuko grabs the trash bag before Iroh can finish his sentence, already on his way out the door. “Sorry. Can’t. Group project. I’ll be back later tonight.”

He doesn’t wait for Iroh’s response, just hears Azula protesting before he shuts the door.

Mai lives in a brownstone apartment in Tribeca. Zuko hasn’t been to this part of Manhattan before. It’s nice. Quiet. He rings the doorbell, not knowing what to expect on the other side.

Mai answers the door and nods her head for him to come in. She’s wearing an oversized Paramore T-shirt and black leggings underneath.

Her parents aren’t home. She tells him they’re university professors and teach late classes.

Her room is cool. Tidy. She’s got a record player and band posters on the walls, and a huge CD and vinyl collection. Zuko looks through them but feels embarrassed that he doesn’t know many of the bands. His knowledge of music is limited.

He browses while Mai complains about Tribeca being boring. She says Brooklyn is where all the culture is. That even Chinatown is better.

When Zuko turns back around, Mai isn’t wearing a shirt. It’s discarded behind her on the bed. He can see her milky skin and the curve of her breasts in her creamy lace bra. He’s surprised it isn’t black like the rest of her wardrobe.

She’s leaning back on the bed, looking ahead. “Have you ever kissed a girl, Zuko?”

Zuko shakes his head, then adds, “N-no.”

“Do you want to?” She sounds almost bored as her focus shifts on him.

Zuko puts back a vinyl record he’d pulled from a shelf. “Okay.”

She pats the bed and he joins her. She brushes his hair out of his eyes, studying his scar. “Who gave you that?”

Something about the inevitability of staring into her eyes makes the words come out of him water. “My father.” 

“Hmm. Interesting.”

He doesn’t think so, but he has no time to understand her remark because she ducks her head and kisses him. Her mouth is soft. He tenses at first, but then her hands on his shoulders relaxes him. He experimentally puts his hand around her naked waist. She doesn’t complain. Her skin is soft there, too.

They move their mouths like that till it’s twilight outside.

Mai pulls back first. “My parents should be back soon. You should probably go.”

“Okay.” He picks up his hoodie where Mai had discarded it on the floor. She’d stuck a hand under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his stomach, which made him laugh involuntarily.

His whole body hums on the train ride back. He grins.

That was the first time he’d told anyone about his father. But he feels like Mai would know the truth, whatever he told her. So he tells her everything. Almost.


End file.
